


The Detective

by Anonymous



Series: Alternatives [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Holt is not actually going to cheat, Infidelity, KIND OF I GUESS, Kevin is a cop, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There was this what if post on tumblr about how Marc Evan Jackson auditioned for the role of Boyle and what would have happened if we had had Detective Kevin Cozner instead of Detective Charles Boyle. This is my version of this fic.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt, Ray Holt/Frederick
Series: Alternatives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783654
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you think?” Raymond Holt asked his husband as he held up the portrait for inspection. Frederick leaned in to look over his shoulder and the faint scent of disinfectant tickled Raymond’s nostrils. His husband had just arrived home, thirty-nine minutes after Raymond himself had stepped through the front door of their house. Now he let out a tired breath and rested a hand on Raymond’s hip, steadying himself.

“Where did you get this?”

“Sergeant Jeffords painted it for me.” Remembering Santiago’s attempts to cheer him up, Raymond almost smiled. “Believe it or not, it was the product of a misunderstanding.”

“He did this in one day? Quite impressive.” Frederick, Raymond noticed, was eying the brushwork critically. “However,” he said after a beat, “I’m not sure where we should put it.”

“You could always take it home, sir. Perhaps your husband would appreciate it.” At the unexpected remark Raymond had looked up from the portrait in his hands. Detective Cozner had walked up behind Santiago. The other man had kept his distance and hadn’t met his gaze. After his comment, he had withdrawn immediately.

“I actually thought you might like to have it for your practice,” Raymond suggested. 

He could feel Frederick shift. “Honestly, I don’t know how comfortable my patients would be with this, Ray. It doesn’t exactly go with my other art.”

Acrylics of landscapes and peaceful woodland creatures Raymond found kitschy and too trite to even deserve to be called art.

“Well, it is a painting of my face,” he said evenly, aware that the happiness Jeffords had managed to capture in oil was leaving his expression.

“Yes.” Frederick leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Your very handsome face. But, you know, I prefer the real thing. Maybe you’ll find a place for this upstairs?”

In the attic, he meant. Raymond suppressed a sigh. Perhaps it had been presumptuous of him to think his husband might want such a thing in his workplace. There truly was no need, as Frederick did have a photograph of them on his desk. Still, somehow, he found this development disappointing. He could not help the pang of hurt he felt any more than he could stifle the bitter little voice in his head that informed him he clearly had not only failed to earn a spot on the wall in the precinct, he also had failed to earn one in his husband’s practice.

Nonsense, he told himself. The painting had been a gift from his new squad, it showcased his sergeant’s skill and their desire to make him feel appreciated, but apart from that Raymond had no reason to attach too much emotional value to it. 

So up to the attic it would go.

“Shall we order dinner?” he asked, setting the painting aside.

***

When Captain Raymond Holt stepped into the room behind the two-way mirror, he was greeted by complete silence. He pulled the door shut behind himself and walked over to the window into the interrogation room. Arms folded across his chest, he watched the scene unfold.

Only, it did not unfold.

The suspect sat in his chair, facing Raymond - though, of course, he was unaware of this fact. He was chewing on his lower lip, his front teeth worrying the metal stud there as his gaze slid from one detective to the other.

Raymond studied his two subordinates. Diaz was in a chair opposite the suspect, almost sprawled, her legs stretched out under the table. Though he could not see her face, Raymond imagined that her expression matched her posture, displaying the sullen boredom of a delinquent schoolgirl sitting through detention.

Meanwhile, Detective Kevin Cozner was leaning against the wall, his profile to Raymond. In his houndstooth jacket and maroon tie he looked like a teacher overseeing a couple of errant students. Cozner’s arms were folded and after less than a minute, the suspect was squirming under the unbroken stare of his piercing blue eyes. Once in a while, Raymond caught Cozner’s eyebrow arching in silent condemnation. 

However, no one was saying a word.

“We’ve got him,” Diaz had told him before striding into the interrogation room, a cup of coffee in her hand, casefile pinned under her arm. Cozner had given him a polite nod, nothing more, as he too stepped through the door.

Raymond still did not quite have a feel for these two, so he was very interested in seeing them work. 

Peralta, yes. Within the first few hours of meeting him, Raymond had understood almost more than he wanted to understand about the young detective. He all but flaunted his father issues, vulnerability shining through his slipshod armor of lame wit. What kept him from being nothing but a grating nuisance were his actual talent as a detective and his honest desire to do good. Raymond would not have admitted it to the man in question, but he was already beginning to like him.

The same went for Santiago, who, from minute one, had been as transparent as the fake mirror in front of him. Hard-working, talented, ambitious, desperate for approval. In some ways, a reflection of his younger self, though still, somewhat painfully, unhardened by decades in the NYPD. 

Sergeant Jeffords was a good man, it truly was as simple as that. A family man who cared about his community. He was struggling currently, but Raymond had no doubt that he would return to field duty in due time.

As for Detectives Scully and Hitchcock, well, the less he thought about them, the better. 

There was still no significant development in the interrogation room. Raymond’s gaze kept returning to Detective Cozner, he was second on this particular case, Diaz was lead. 

Cozner was a mystery. His record was outstanding. Like Raymond he had barely served any time in uniform before his promotion to detective, and yet once he had achieved this rank, his career had stagnated. Cozner had been involved in a few major cases, but never as lead, never in charge of anything, it seemed. Yet, he was mentioned, commended occasionally. It was curious.

The detective was a few years younger than him, but they were of the same generation and while Cozner had been nothing but polite to him, he kept his distance. Once, Raymond had caught him glancing at the rainbow flag on his desk. Emotion had flickered across the detective’s face, but before Raymond had been able to identify it, Cozner’s expression had been schooled back into neutrality. 

If this man had a problem with his sexuality, there was not much Raymond could do, experience had taught him that. He would keep working hard to excel at his job because that was what he would do anyway, whether it earned him Cozner’s respect or not.

“How come you ain’t asking me nothing?” the suspect growled suddenly, breaking the silence.

Once again, Cozner’s eyebrow curled. “Why aren’t you asking me any questions?” he said, “would be the grammatically correct way to pose your question.”

The suspect gaped at him. “Huh?”

“It’s because we already know exactly what you’re going to tell us, dummy.” Diaz tapped her finger on the manila file on the table. “It’s all in here.”

“I like the job and I’m good at it. Anything else?” One look at her face had told Raymond that this was all the backstory he would get from Diaz, so he had shaken his head and let her get back to work.

“Yeah, no. You’re just bluffin’. My lawyer’s gonna be here in an hour anyway. So I’m not sayin’ nothin’.”

“Well, your tragic use of the double negative actually means that you are in fact saying something. Which is unnecessary, as we have all we need.” Cozner sighed. “However, if you insist, we will share the details with you.”

“Okay,” the suspect said, jutting out his chin. “Bring it.”

Diaz smirked and leaned forward in her chair.

***

They brought it.

Raymond watched as Diaz and Cozner laid out the case. He watched as, with every new piece of evidence, the cockiness and defiance drained from the suspect’s face. 

They had a lot. 

Which was surprising, as the case looked at first glance like a random shooting in a bad neighborhood. But as it turned out, his detectives had done an incredible amount of research and legwork. Diaz and Cozner had traced every one of the suspect’s as well as the victim’s movements from months before the shooting until the night of. Raymond had no doubt that they could have written a three-hundred page dissertation on this homicide if they’d had to.

“My lawyer…” the suspect mumbled after Diaz and Cozner concluded what had been more a presentation of facts than an interrogation. 

“He will probably advise you to plead guilty,” Cozner said, in a matter of fact kind of manner. Raymond had expected more smugness after the effort they had put in. “You should think about it,” Cozner continued as he collected the evidence and crime scene photos strewn across the table. “It might lead to a reduced sentence. There are programs in prison. You took that opportunity away from Mister Balek, but you can still do something productive with your life. Get an education.”

“Yeah, go to school, dummy,” Diaz said.

***

Raymond stepped out of the observation room and waited by the door. When Cozner and Diaz walked past, he gave them a nod of approval.

“Good work, Detectives.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Diaz replied.

Cozner returned his nod. “Thank you, sir.”

As they walked over to their desks, Raymond saw Diaz playfully punch Cozner’s shoulder. He ducked his head, so Raymond could not get a glimpse of the expression on his face. Which was a pity, he found himself thinking, as he was almost certain it was a smile.

A smile he would have liked to see.

***

“Hey, did Kev do that thing again where he told the guy to go to prison school?” 

Raymond deliberately slowed his walk across the bullpen to the copy room. He glanced over at Peralta who was standing in front of Diaz’ desk. Unbeknownst to the childish detective, Cozner was on his way back to his own desk behind him.

“Yup,” Diaz replied. She had noticed Cozner but gave no indication to Peralta. 

“Did the perp laugh at him?”

“Nope, looked kinda like he was about to cry actually.”

“What? Damn! Why is it always so cool when he does it?” Peralta threw up his hands. “When I tried it the other day, my perp totally laughed at me!”

“Understandable,” Cozner said, making Peralta flinch and whip around in surprise. “One cannot help but be amused by the irony of being told to get an education by someone who clearly cannot read.”

“I  _ can _ read, I just choose not to.”

Cozner rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

‘Fun’ banter in the workplace, Raymond thought, waiting for the appropriate feeling of disgust to overcome him. 

However…

It did not.

Curious.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wow. You told me you were texting your husband, but you were actually texting Kev?! I feel betrayed, sir.” 

Raymond suppressed a sigh; he was more than a little tired of the antics of his exasperating detective and he certainly regretted having chosen him as his bodyguard. He should have gone with his first instinct and picked Norm Scully instead, a man who truly would not have cared. 

And now, after he had in fact sent a text message to his assistant instructing her to have whichever detective was available come to the safe house, here was Cozner, impeccably dressed as always.

Ignoring Peralta’s whining, he met Detective Cozner’s eyes and lifted his handcuffed wrist. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, Detective. I’m afraid Peralta disposed of the key.”

Cozner holstered his gun, frowning.

“What _is_ going on?” he asked, glancing from Peralta to Raymond.

“Do not free him, Kev! He got a death threat! We can’t just let him run around unprotected,” Peralta glared at Raymond,”because that’d be against protocol,” he said, affecting a deep voice that was supposed to be an imitation of him, Raymond guessed.

“Handcuffing yourself to the target is also against protocol, Peralta.” Cozner shook his head as he stepped through the door and shut it behind him.

“My point exactly,” Raymond said.

Cozner scanned his surroundings. “Captain Holt should be in a safe room while we investigate the threat.”

“What?”

“Hah, take that, Cap, Kev is on my side!”

“I am not ‘on your side,’ I am merely reminding you of proper procedure. With all due respect, sir, even if you have reason to believe the threat is fake, we still have to investigate it while ensuring your safety.” 

“This is nonsense, Detective.”

“Also, the fact that Gina instructed me to pick you up here and then drive you to your old precinct gives me reason to believe that you do think the threat is real.”

Peralta gasped. “Wait, you weren’t going home?” He tried to point his finger in accusation, but Raymond refused to let his wrist move. “You just wanted to get rid of me to investigate it on your own!”

“Yes! Because you’re clearly incompetent and this is _my_ problem!” One that he would solve without dragging anyone else into it.

“Well, I can see why he would choose to leave you behind, Peralta.”

“Well, I can see why he would choose to leave you behind, Peralta,” Peralta parroted in a nasal voice, earning himself a glare from Cozner.

This childishness was getting them nowhere. “You can drive me to my old precinct now and then return to the Nine-Nine, Detective Cozner,” Raymond said. He tried to hold out his cuffed wrist, Peralta, however, did his best to tug it back.

“Return to the Nine-Nine?” Cozner’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. “Captain, do you not trust me to assist you with your investigation?”

“Hah,” exclaimed Peralta, “he thinks you’re just as incompetent as me, Kev!”

“That…” Cozner blinked. He actually looked and sounded quite hurt. “You are our commanding officer, yet you don’t trust us?”

Taken aback by his own surprising and inappropriate emotional response to seeing how upset Cozner was, Raymond snapped,“Detective, uncuff me, this is a direct order.”

“Don’t do it, Kev!”

Cozner was staring at Raymond, his piercing blue eyes holding his gaze. “I will not uncuff you,” he said. “We will investigate this threat together, whether you like it or not. You will not leave this safe house until we have a lead, Captain.” His voice had not changed; it was as soft, cultured and steady as always. Only this time, it sent a disturbingly pleasant shiver down Raymond’s spine. “You may not think much of me, but I am not intimidated by you. We _will_ protect you.” 

_Oh,_ Raymond thought, _oh. No._

He had to avert his eyes as a hot rush of arousal coursed through him. 

Speechless with mortification caused by his body’s extremely inappropriate reaction, Raymond stood, struck dumb.

“Way to go, Kev,” crowed Peralta.

“Now sit down,” Cozner commanded. “Peralta, I assume you have a laptop here? I propose we reexamine the messages you received. They might contain some valuable information.”

***

Colin Haimes.

Raymond had vivid memories of the smell of chlorine rising up from the pool as he had taunted the man. Haimes’ eyes had been filled with hatred. When the uniformed officers had dragged him away, he had turned around before they had shoved him into the backseat of the police car. His last glare had glanced off the armour of bravado encasing young Raymond Holt. Raymond had smirked at him in triumph and not wasted another thought on the Freestyle Killer for decades.

Until now.

***

He hated this. 

The plan had been to solve this case on his own, to not get the squad involved at all. Now, however, they were all here at the railyards in the dark.

Raymond breathed in the cold night air and drew his gun. He nodded at the squad, motioning for them to split up to search the area. He wanted to feel relief when Santiago, Cozner and Diaz climbed between a row of freight wagons, out of sight, but the memory of Cozner staring him down, telling him he would protect him - _they_ would protect him, he corrected himself sternly - it had burrowed into his brain somehow. Raymond could not quite shake off its effect. 

He sucked in another breath and held it for a moment.

Beside him, Peralta was babbling, of course.

“So what cute little nickname do you call your husband?”

His husband, yes. The man he loved. 

“Frederick.”

“Adorable.”

He needed to focus.

“You have Haimes’ number,” Raymond told Peralta, “Call his phone.”

“Smort.”

They waited while it rang, ears pricked.

“This is exciting,” Peralta whispered.

Nothing.

“Must be on silent,” Peralta grumbled, disappointed. “What now?”

“We have to keep looking.”

They crept through the dark, looking around, stopping at every suspicious noise.

Santiago’s voice came crackling through the radio. “We saw someone heading in your direction. Should be coming from the South. We’re in pursuit. Stay alert!”

“Got it,” Peralta replied.

Something crunched behind them. Raymond whipped around, gun raised and ready. He couldn’t see anyone, only the long shadows of the wagons stretching towards them. 

Then two things happened simultaneously: something slammed into him from behind and he heard two gunshots.

Raymond crashed into the gravel, gasping. 

There was shouting as he struggled with the weight on top of him. Warm liquid dripped down the back of his neck.

“Careful,” Peralta said, then, “Jesus.”

Raymond pushed himself up. The weight slid off him without much resistance. Only when he got onto his knees did he realize that what had fallen to the ground next to him was a person, that the liquid he had wiped off his neck with his fingertips to examine it in the moonlight was crimson.

Blood.

Peralta had dragged the other man - Cozner, it was Cozner - off Raymond. He must have thrown himself between Haimes, who had crawled out from a hiding spot in or under the wagons behind them, Raymond realized. When Haimes had fired his shots, Cozner had shielded Raymond with his body.

Haimes was pinned to the ground beneath Jeffords who had also seemingly come out of nowhere. He was no longer a priority, as he was being cuffed.

More important was Cozner on the ground next to him, his face pale and drawn as blood flowed from his shoulder. The bullets had struck his right shoulder less than an inch from his vest. They seemed to have entered his body at an angle, which made it difficult to tell what kind of damage they had done.

Peralta was radioing for an ambulance

Pushing away shock and guilt - there was no time for emotional turmoil now - Raymond ripped off his windbreaker, balled it up and pressed it onto the wounds. He elicited a small grunt from Cozner who stared up at him, wide-eyed and dazed.

“Sir, are you...injured?” he mumbled. “There’s blood…”

“It’s yours, Detective,” Raymond replied tersely, pressing down harder.

“Oh… my...” His eyes were fluttering closed.

“Kev?” Peralta called. He shot Raymond a helpless glance. “Come on, buddy!”

Heart pounding, Raymond reached for Cozner’s neck. His fingers searched desperately for a pulse as he prayed for the ambulance to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Around them the railyards were dark and silent like the proverbial grave and Raymond’s sticky fingertips were leaving red smudges on Cozner’s pale neck. The jagged pattern of blood revealed the unsteadiness of his fingers as they kept grasping for that proof of life, a heartbeat that just wasn’t there. 

Beneath him, Cozner lay cold and still.

He was dead.

“What did you do?” Peralta snapped next to him, his eyes boring into Raymond.

“You killed him!” When he looked up, his squad was there, Santiago, Diaz and Jeffords staring down at him.

“How does it feel, Holt, huh? To get what you deserve?” Haimes stepped out from the shadows, grinning. “You’re no captain. You’re no better than I am.”

***

Raymond’s eyes snapped open. He found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom in the dark, his husband stirring awake beside him.

***

_Hours earlier:_

His own heartbeat was pounding in his ears, blood thundering in his veins like waves crashing against the shore. Cozner’s skin was clammy and cool to the touch and for one terrifying second, Raymond found no pulse.

Then he did. It thrummed faintly under his fingertips. He detected no arrhythmia. Yet.

“Let me help.” Peralta leaned in to add pressure to the wounds. Both his hands settled around Raymond’s left. “Like an inside out oreo,” he mumbled, making no sense to Raymond as usual.

A staccato of footsteps crunched across the gravel, but Raymond did not take his eyes off Cozner’s twitching eyelids. Cozner’s breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps.

“Oh no,” Santiago exclaimed as she skidded to a halt and fell to her knees to Raymond’s right. “Shoulder wounds?”

Raymond nodded. “Two gunshots, close together.”

Distant sirens could be heard.

“I’ll go flag down the ambulance,” Diaz called before running off again.

“Sir, we need to elevate the wound,” Santiago said.

Raymond bit his lip, a wave of self-loathing cresting over him for not keeping his head.

“I’ll apply pressure. Can you two prop him up?”

“Okay.” Peralta withdrew his hands slowly so Santiago could take his place. He slid one arm under Cozner’s back. “Good thinking, Santiago.”

“Sir?”

“Of course.” Raymond shifted to give Santiago space, then slipped his arm under Cozner as well.

“We’ll lift him and drag him over there so we can lean him against that railroad car. On three. One, two, three.”

Cozner let out a soft groan when they lifted his upper body off the ground and started pulling him towards the railroad car.

“Careful!” At the last second, Raymond inserted his hand between the back of Cozner’s lolling head and the metal side of the railroad car. They all breathed a sigh of relief when they had him sitting up.

Peralta grasped Cozner’s uninjured shoulder and gave it a light shake. “Okay, listen, Kev. The ambulance is almost here. So if you see a bright light, don’t walk towards it. If you die on us, I swear I’ll shave your dog and have them play Taylor Swift at your funeral.”

The words were brash, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed real fear. Santiago’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Under flecks of blood her knuckles shone white in the moonlight.

A pulse of blue washed over them and some of the tightness in Raymond’s chest eased. The stubs of short hair at the base of Cozener’s skull were tickling his palm. Their position was shockingly intimate, their breaths mingling as they crouched over Cozner. He did not yet know these people, Raymond thought and if he died tonight, he would never get to know Detective Kevin M. Cozner.

***

Whereas time seemed to stretch into infinity while they were waiting for the paramedics’ arrival, their appearance on the scene made it snap back. Within moments Cozner was loaded into the ambulance and rushed away, leaving Raymond and his squad behind.

Their drive back to the precinct was almost silent. Jeffords, who had cuffed Haimes and taken him to the van, asked for an update on Cozner, but they didn’t have much to tell him except that the detective had been alive but unconscious when they had last seen him. 

“He lost a lot of blood,” Santiago said.

“Once we arrive at the Nine-Nine, I will drive to Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. You are free to come with me if you want,” Raymond offered. It was difficult to keep the guilt out of his voice. There was no point to this emotion, he thought, it could not change what had happened.

“We’ll all go. He’s one of us.” Diaz said with finality. 

No one objected.

***

Raymond had slipped away from the waiting area to the men’s room in order to craft a text message to his husband to inform him that he would be late. He also needed to wash off the blood that had crusted on his hands.

He was still in the middle of doing that when the door was shoved open and Gina stepped into the room.

She took one glance at the sink, pink water circling the drain, and Raymond’s hands, lathered in soap and disinfectant, and raised one eyebrow.

“Sorry to interrupt your Lady Macbeth-moment, Sir--”

“This is the men’s room, Gina,” Raymond cut her off, his voice even. He was too tired to muster the appropriate amount of annoyance.

“Yeah, well, you don’t strike me as the urinal using type, Sir. Anyway, we were just told that Kevin will pull through. We can go see him in a few minutes.”

Raymond’s hands stilled. He blinked, shocked by the wave of relief washing over him. The force of it threatened to make his knees buckle. A long. shaky breath escaped his lips.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to hear that. Thank you, Gina.”

Another man walked in, did a double take at Gina and walked out again.

“Now _that_ ,” Gina said, “was definitely a urinal using type.”

***

Cozner was conscious when they entered his room, but barely. He blinked at them in confusion, his blue eyes hazy and unfocused.

“Hey, Kev!” Peralta, of course, was the only one to shout his greeting. “How are you doing?”

“I’m…” Cozner started, then paused to lick his dry lips. He looked lost for a second. “I feel… light.”

“Okay,” Jeffords said, patting Cozner’s uninjured shoulder. “We’re very proud of you, Kevin, but I think we better let you get some rest.”

“I’m very proud of you too. Your head is so shiny,” mumbled Cozner.

“Ooooh!” Peralta’s eyes went wide as his lips peeled back in a gleeful grin. “He is _so_ high!”

“Jake--!” groaned Santiago. Diaz glared at him.

Naturally, this did not deter Peralta. “Quick, Kev, who’s your favorite colleague?”

Cozner looked up at him with big, trusting eyes, his pupils completely dilated. “Gina,” he replied.

“Duh, obviously,” Gina said, sounding unsurprised but pleased nevertheless.

Peralta frowned. “Okay, who’s your favorite _male_ colleague?”

“Sergeant Jeffords.”

“What?!” Peralta scrunched up his face more. “Okay, second favorite?”

“Scully.”

“What?!”

“I like his singing.”

This was painful to watch. 

“Peralta! We’re leaving!” Jeffords grabbed his detective and started dragging him toward the door.

“Wait! What do you really think about Captain Holt?”

“He’s…,” Cozner swallowed. Somehow everyone was holding their breaths.

It did not matter what he would say, Raymond told himself, the man was clearly completely out of it. And yet he was still waiting for the answer.

“He’s... so pretty,” Cozner breathed, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Peralta, “This is hands down _the_ best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten! This is even better than the time Santiago called you beautiful, Sir!”

“Shut up,” hissed Santiago.

Raymond could feel his ears grow hot. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Jeffords?” he said.

“You’re done here.” With that Jeffords simply picked Peralta up and, ignoring his feeble protest, carried him out. The rest of the squad filed out after them.

Raymond hung back. He looked at Cozner who seemed to have fallen asleep, still but for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Thank you, Detective,” he said and briefly touched the back of Cozner’s hand. “I won’t forget what you did tonight. You made the Nine-Nine proud.”

In his sleep, Cozner’s fingers twitched once, as if to hold on to the hand Raymond had already withdrawn.

***

Raymond thought his husband would be in bed by the time he arrived home, however, when he entered their dark house, everything was quiet and Frederick was not in the bedroom. He checked his phone and found that his textmessage had been received and read. There had been no reply and no missed calls.

Raymond tried calling his husband’s cellphone but his call went straight to voicemail. Concerned, he paced into the kitchen where he found a handwritten note stuck to the fridge.

_Dear Raymond,_

_due to an emergency with one of my patients, I had to go to Brooklyn Hospital Center. I don’t know when I will return. Please don’t wait up._

_Love, Frederick._

With a sigh, Raymond opened the fridge and assembled the ingredients for a turkey sandwich which would have to serve as his late dinner.

***

Frederick returned at 2:23 am, looking somewhat worse for wear. Raymond was sitting in the living-room, reading an ancient issue of the New Yorker he had found while re-alphabetizing their bookshelves because he had been unable to sleep. He had been frowning at an article about the history of police precincts in the City of New York that contained quite a few factual errors. Clearly the author had not done his due diligence. Raymond would have penned a letter to the editor had the issue not been from 1983, the very year, he remembered then, he had run into Frederick at an anti-AIDS event and they had fallen into bed together, resuscitating their relationship post-duck-incident.

“You’re still up,” Frederick remarked upon entering the room.

Raymond rose from the couch to greet his husband. Frederick seemed surprised by the chaste kiss he pressed to his lips. Gently, he pushed Raymond away, holding him at arm’s length. 

“You seem upset. What’s the matter?”

“One of my detectives was shot and injured in the line of duty tonight,” Raymond said. During the hours he had waited for Frederick he had debated how much detail he would give his husband. He had decided not to mention the death threat.There was no need to divulge this information as it would only cause Frederick unnecessary distress, he thought.

“Oh. My God, you’re alright, though?” Frederick drew his hands down his shoulders and along his arms in one slow caress to grasp Raymond’s hands and pull him closer. Grateful for the offer of physical comfort, Raymond leaned in and briefly buried his face in Frederick’s shoulder.

“I am uninjured,” he said, his lips brushing Frederick’s neck. Then he sniffed once, taking in an unfamiliar scent. “Is that new cologne?”

“A free sample. Do you like it?”

Raymond wrinkled his nose. “No,” he replied honestly.

Frederick chuckled as he wrapped his arms around him. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“What was the nature of your emergency?”

“The usual. A patient experienced difficulty breathing. She’s in her last trimester, her first pregnancy. She called an ambulance but she wanted me to be there as well. Her boyfriend ran out on her when she told him she was expecting; she’s all alone. It was a panic attack. The baby is fine.”

Raymond did not quite know what to say to this. It sounded complicated. At the same time it struck him as the typical story of a straight human male exhibiting pathetically cowardly behavior. Failure to take responsibility for one’s actions, Raymond hated that.

He thought of his own actions and their consequences - Cozner lying in a hospital bed, up to his eyeballs in morphine - and suppressed a wince. 

“I feel responsible,” he said, “for what happened to my detective.”

Frederick rubbed his back. “How badly was he hurt?”

“He suffered two gunshot wounds to his right shoulder.”

“Look, gunshot wounds are tricky, but you got him to the hospital before he bled out, which means that the bullets missed the subclavian artery.”

Raymond had thought about this himself. He had, after all, been shot in the line of duty as well. Though in his case, it had been a shotgun blast to his left shoulder from a respectable distance. While there had been a smattering of pellets scattered in his shoulder, the damage had been minor. 

“Yes.”

“There’s a chance he might need follow-up surgery if the brachial plexus was damaged, for example, but for him that’s just going to mean more paid time off, right?” Frederick chuckled and patted his back. “Come on, Ray, he’ll be fine and I’m sure the NYPD will give him a shiny medal for his trouble.”

***

“Ray?” Came his husband’s voice, thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”

Raymond blinked in the darkness, wondering.

His heart was still pounding, the nightmare still hanging over him.

Bedsheets rustled as Frederick rolled over to his side and slipped an arm around his waist.

“I’m sorry I was so flippant earlier,” he murmured. “Forgive me?”

“Yes,” Raymond said and turned into his embrace. “All is forgiven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought long and hard about killing Kevin and leaving the fic like that, this missed opportunity where they only met briefly, which would have been nice and tragic, but then I didn't because well.


	4. Chapter 4

“Wow, somehow, the cute puppies make him look even sadder.” Instead of doing her work, Gina was leaning next to the window, gazing outside. “You are one cold-hearted B., Amy,” she said with far too much appreciation as she turned around to Santiago who had walked up behind her. “I like this side of you!”

“I didn’t tell him to go outside. He offered!” Santiago’s shoulders slumped. She looked perfectly miserable. “He shouldn’t have brought the dogs. I mean, this is a workplace! How could he think that was okay?”

“Because I explicitly told him it was,” Raymond said, making Santiago jump.

“Oh my God, I’m  _ so _ sorry!” As expected, Santiago was immediately beside herself with the need to please him. “I’ll ask him to come back inside, sir.”

“And then you’ll suffocate because of your dog allergies? Okay. Smart move, Amy.” Rolling her eyes, Gina took a sip of her coffee. 

Raymond studied Santiago, who seemed to wilt under his gaze. “You’re allergic, Detective?” Her nose was indeed runny, her eyes a little red. This would not do. “When I told Detective Cozner he could keep the small dogs here, I did not take allergies into account. It was an oversight on my part.”

He looked out the window at Cozner, who was sitting hunched over his laptop, his coat draped over his shoulders - as the bulky sling which held his right arm made it impossible to wear the garment properly. The two young dogs were playing at his feet while the older dog, the purebred Welsh Corgi, had curled up beneath his legs. 

Cozner himself did look rather unhappy, shivering and typing away at a snail’s pace with his left hand. 

An hour earlier, when he had come in for his first day at work after his medical leave, his mood had been carefully optimistic, though he had been apologetic about the dogs.

“My dog sitter had an emergency and I couldn’t find a replacement,” he had explained, “could I perhaps keep the dogs here with me? It would only be for today. I am looking for new families for these two puppies anyway.” He had shifted nervously and glanced down at the two small dogs on their leashes who were harassing the slightly bigger Corgi. “Cheddar here had relations with a neighbor’s dog. Since he fathered them, I felt they were my responsibility…”

Raymond had given his permission without hesitation. After his act of bravery in the field, Cozner could have asked him for anything. The man was a hero.

“He could work in the evidence room,” Gina suggested. “If he keeps the door closed, Amy should be okay out here.”

“Except we don’t want puppies near the evidence. What if they chew something up or pee on something?” Santiago argued.

“Uuuh, everyone knows our prisons are overcrowded. Those pups’d be doing us a favor.”

“Enough. This man is a hero. He should not have to sit out there in the snow to do his work.”

“I like how it’s sticking in his hair but melting on his bald spot though, it’s a nice contrast,” Gina interjected. 

Raymond glared at her. 

“Since I am responsible for this situation, I will resolve it,” he declared. “Santiago, you will be fine as long as you and Cozner’s dogs are in separate rooms?”

“Yes, sir.”

In that case, he thought, the solution was simple.

“Good, then I will have him work in my office with me. We will keep the door closed, therefore your allergies should not be a problem.”

“I mean, I could also work in your office with you…” mumbled Santiago.

Raymond, however, no longer had time to listen. He had a plan that had to be set in motion right away. 

He strode outside, gait sharp with determination. Cozner looked up in surprise when Raymond stopped in front of him.

“Detective, come with me,” he ordered before turning on his heel, expecting Cozner to follow.

After two steps he realized that he had once again forgotten to take something into account. This time it was Cozner’s injury, which left him struggling with the leashes and his laptop. Trying to hold both in one hand was resulting in fumbling and failure. That would not do.

Raymond turned around once more. As the leashes were slipping from Cozner’s hand Raymond bent down and scooped up first one puppy, then the other. Cozner gaped at him but seemed to be able to carry his laptop while the Corgi followed behind without a leash. This would do.

“To my office, Detective,” he commanded and strode back into the bullpen, one puppy under each arm.

When the small dog under his left arm started to wriggle, Raymond had no choice but to shift his grip. He lifted the puppy up and cradled him against his chest. All eyes in the bullpen were on him, he realized, as the small dog chose this moment to put his paws on Raymond’s shoulder and first sniff the side of his face before starting to attack it with his tiny, wet tongue. It tickled. Raymond bore the onslaught stoically and kept walking.

In front of the closed door to his office he came to a stop. 

“Gina, would you mind?” He nodded at the door.

Gina simply continued standing where she was, staring.

“Open the door, please,” Raymond said in case she needed clarification.

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t take you seriously like this.”

He shot her his most authoritative glare, which was undermined by the fact that the left puppy was now licking his ear and he had to tilt his head to try and escape the assault. It did not work. The small dog only wriggled a little higher to continue his undertaking.

Raymond waited in pointed silence.

Santiago sneezed.

Finally Gina stepped forward and opened his door for him, allowing him to withdraw into his office. Cozner and the Corgi trailed behind at a polite distance.

“You may close the door behind you, Detective.”

Raymond sat down in his chair, relieved to be able to put the small dogs on the floor. Both of them immediately ran to their owner and the corgi to greet them as though they had been separated for years.

Cozner stood awkwardly by the door as the two young dogs yipped and pawed at his pant leg.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir. If you would like me to leave--”

“Not at all, Cozner. I brought you here because Santiago assured me her allergies were not a problem as long as she and the dogs were in different rooms. Which is why I want you to work here in my office.” He gestured to the couch. “You can leave the dogs with me if you need to retrieve anything from your desk.”

“Oh.” Cozner frowned. “Are you certain? While Cheddar is quite well-trained - if I do say so myself - these two here are still a work in progress.”

“It’s fine,” Raymond said in a tone meant to convey that no further discussion was required. When Cozner continued standing where he was, seemingly at a loss, Raymond raised his eyebrows. “Detective, sit down,” he commanded.

To his surprise and faint amusement, all three dogs looked up at him, then plopped their fluffy bottoms down on the floor. After a couple of seconds Cozner stepped over to the couch and followed suit.

***

Once Raymond had returned from the restroom where he had thoroughly washed his face, he sat down behind his desk and started working. Cozner already seemed engrossed in his task - proofreading the reports for a few burglaries that had been solved by Hitchcock and Scully - and barely glanced up when he returned. The Corgi was lying stretched out on his side by the detective’s feet, snoring softly, while his offspring was engaged in playful fighting complete with high-pitched growling and yipping.

Raymond found he did not mind. He was the type who got fully immersed in his work - he had to be, after all he had come up as a detective in the 70s and 80s when his (white, male, heterosexual) colleagues had still smoked like chimneys and cursed like sailors in the bullpen. 

He did look up when, a few minutes into their pleasantly silent work, Cozner called out, “Richard!”

Then Raymond looked down because something was pawing on his leg. One of the puppies had run over - with Raymond’s permission Cozner had released them from their leashes as they were only getting tangled in them - and was now on his hindlegs, his front paws scratching the side of Raymond’s left leg, his little tail wagging furiously. It was the same puppy that had licked his face earlier.

Cozner was getting up - presumably to collect his small dog - but Raymond held up a hand.

“His name is Richard?”

“Yes. I’ll just--”

“No need.” On a whim he could not have explained, Raymond leaned down and gathered up the puppy, murmuring, “Well, come here, Richard.” 

In his lap, Richard settled down, apparently satisfied. As Raymond petted him, he caught himself thinking that the dog’s fur was very soft. It felt quite nice. 

Cozner was looking at him, but quickly averted his gaze when their eyes met. Still, Raymond had seen the smile twitching his lips and he found he did not mind it.

Not at all.

***

“Terry won’t do you like that!”

Raymond almost bumped into the Sergeant when he tried to re-enter his office.

“Captain,” Jeffords said, sidestepping him and shooting Cozner an apologetic look before ducking out.

Cozner for his part looked somewhat disheartened. He was holding Richard’s brother in his uninjured arm while Richard sat exactly where Raymond had left him - in his chair. Upon Raymond’s return from his quick trip to the briefing room, he perked up, his floppy ears twitching as his tail started to wag.

“What was that about?” Raymond asked.

“I was hoping Sergeant Jeffords would want to adopt the puppies, but he declined.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize you were serious about finding a home for them among our colleagues.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. The matter has become quite pressing. My landlord has issued an ultimatum.”

“I see.” Raymond walked over to his chair where Richard was waiting for him. He picked the dog up and sat down, holding him in his lap once more. Overjoyed, the puppy tried to climb his chest to reach his face. This time, Raymond held him in place, petting him and scratching behind his ears. 

“He seems to like you,” Cozner said. Raymond appreciated the neutrality of his tone.

“My husband has always wanted a dog,” he mused, gazing down at the young canine in his lap. Unlike his purebred father, whose relatively compact form and general fluffiness Raymond found very appealing, Richard was a mongrel, who clearly took after his mother. “We have had long debates on the topic but ultimately decided against it every time because of our demanding jobs.” Raymond paused, wondering how much he should reveal. He preferred to keep his private life private, but talking to Cozner was easy and pleasant. Besides, Frederick was one of his favorite topics. “My husband is a medical doctor,” he said, the familiar feeling of pride swelling his chest, “an OBGYN, to be precise.”

“A noble profession.” Detective Cozner sounded suitably impressed.

“Yes, but his hours can be irregular, as can ours.”

“Of course.” Cozner nodded.

“Still…” Raymond looked down at the small dog in his lap. Richard looked up at him with his literal puppy eyes. Although Raymond knew that what had attracted the dog to him was most likely some coincidental mix of factors - the way he smelled, the way his shirt felt against the puppy’s body, his body temperature, etc. - it did feel as though he had been chosen for who he was and the animal’s affection did feel like love and trust, though a dog’s version of these emotions were of course far less complex than a human’s. Or were they? Animal attraction, Raymond thought, didn’t human attraction boil down to hormones and body chemistry as well? Another thought tried to force its way into his mind, but he pushed it away. “We certainly do have the means to hire a caretaker for him…”

He realized that he had neglected to use a conditional phrase. His decision had been made.

Cozner’s eyebrow quirked and Raymond cleared his throat.

“I would like to purchase this small dog from you, Detective,” he declared.

“He is not for sale, but I will give him to you. I think he has chosen you anyway and I believe you and your husband will take very good care of him. I couldn’t be happier.” 

A subtle smile indeed graced Cozner’s lips. Raymond, tempted to return it, quelled the urge and joked, “When I come home with Richard here tonight, my husband will be so pleased, he might agree to sit center right at the Albinoni concerto in two weeks.”

“Which seats would he have preferred?”

Raymond dropped his voice confessionally, “Center left.”

Both of Cozner’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh my,” he breathed, “when you eat at a restaurant, does he also demand a table near the restroom?”

This startled a laugh out of Raymond, however, it was quickly suffocated under a lump of guilt in his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Cozner said, reading the room accurately, “I should not have said that. I don’t know your husband.”

“No, you don’t,” replied Raymond.  _ But I think he would like you, _ he almost added, before stopping himself because, he realized, he did not know whether he would have been lying.

***

To the surprise of the entire squad, Richard’s brother Dan was adopted by Diaz, who, hours after shrugging her decision off as a favor to Cozner - “It’s just a dog. I can feed him and stuff, no big deal, all dogs are basically the same.” - and having to be prevented from trying to stuff the poor animal into a backpack to take him home, apparently gave a speech to everyone, threatening murder-suicide if anything were to happen to the puppy, which convinced Cozner, who had been very much on the fence, that he had found a good home for his remaining small dog.

***

When he said goodbye to Richard, Cozner petted the puppy’s head, fed him a treat and said so softly Raymond had to strain to hear, “Si vis amari, ama.”

The tender advice - If you wish to be loved, love. - stayed with Raymond long after Cozner had packed up and left for the day. 

***

That evening, upon returning from work, Raymond ordered from one of Frederick’s favorite restaurants and then waited up for his husband’s arrival. He had tied a blue ribbon around Richard’s neck as he was a living creature and could therefore not be wrapped like a present. Richard, of course, did his very best to paw the decoration off and by the time Frederick did arrive, all that remained of it was a blue scrap of fabric the puppy carried proudly in his mouth.

Nevertheless, Frederick was overjoyed, his eyes shining with happiness as he fell to his knees to pet their new dog. The expression on his face one, Raymond was shocked to realize, he had not seen in a long time, perhaps years. But before he could contemplate this further, Frederick wrapped his arms around him and kissed him breathless.

***

“You’re wearing that cologne again,” Raymond said, nuzzling his husband’s neck.

“Yes,” Frederick replied. His voice reverberated through Raymond’s skin. “I bought the bottle.”

***

At breakfast the next morning, when Frederick returned from his walk with Richard, Raymond voiced a thought that had been on his mind for a few days. He had waited for a moment to bring it up, a happy moment that might help navigate the pitfalls of this particular request.

Frederick was stepping into the house, cheeks ruddy from the cold outside. He laughed as he looked down at the puppy shaking off the wetness on their carpet, then he looked up at his husband and the set breakfast table - it seemed like the moment had arrived.

“Would you mind,” Raymond asked, “if we invited my squad to my birthday party this year?”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written much lately, but I am working on my other stuff. It's just super slow going. Life is kicking my ass in so many ways T_T Sorry.


End file.
